


Potter's Clay

by wynefred



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 09:32:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4014649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynefred/pseuds/wynefred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A/N1: This fic is a Christmas gift to my sister. It's amazing how much being unemployed can boost a person's creativity. Love you to the moon and back again, sis!<br/>A/N2: Special thanks to judithyaffa and Shallowz for their amazing beta work. Any remaining errors are mine. All mine!<br/>A/N3: This is set in Season 2, sometime after Hunted.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N1: This fic is a Christmas gift to my sister. It's amazing how much being unemployed can boost a person's creativity. Love you to the moon and back again, sis!  
> A/N2: Special thanks to judithyaffa and Shallowz for their amazing beta work. Any remaining errors are mine. All mine!  
> A/N3: This is set in Season 2, sometime after Hunted.

Men turned their heads when it entered the room. It smiled full red lips, batted painted eyes, and leaned its beautiful body against the bar. The tight dress barely covered its ample curves. It liked being beautiful.

A man came over, bought it a drink, flirted with it. His eyes filled with lust. It leaned forward, licked its painted lips, pushed out its generous bosom. The man laid a hand on its bare shoulder, rubbed soft circles with his thumb, moved in closer.

Then something went wrong. The man stopped. He pulled his hand away. Gritty dirt covered his fingers. His eyes looked confused, disgusted. He wasn't smiling anymore. He backed away.

The change had started, its beauty was fading. It ran out of the bar and into the night.

xxxXXXxxx

"Okay, cuties, I've got one Everything platter, extra bacon, and a two-egg-whites omelet with a side of whole wheat toast." The waitress set a plate down in front of each brother. "I'll be back in a few minutes to top off your coffees."

The men responded with a chorus of "Thanks," and Dean dug hungrily into his scrambled eggs.

"Mmmm... this is just what I needed," Dean mumbled between bites. His brother answered with a distracted grunt, so Dean tapped his fork on the laptop. "Put that thing away. We're not here to work, man. Just passing through, remember?"

"Uh-huh." Sam responded distractedly, still staring at his laptop. "Dean, listen to this..."

"No. Seriously, Sammy, I need a break. We barely got any sleep on that last hunt and I've been driving all night. I just wanna eat my breakfast, park the car beside a nice lake somewhere, and catch some Z's before we head to Bobby's. Besides, my baby is overdue for some TLC."

"Yeah, I know, Dean, but..."

"And I was thinking we should lay low for a while. You know, until we get your psychic thing figured out. What'd'ya say? Little vacation at Bobby's could be fun, right?"

"Dean, we talked about this. I'm not gonna stop hunting. You can stay at Bobby's if you want, but I'm gonna keep working. Alright?"

"I guess."

"Now listen, I think this could be our kind of thing."

Dean sighed, shoved another forkful in his mouth and mumbled around his food, "Fine. What'd'ya got?"

"Well, several people have disappeared in the Town of Ithaca, only about 50 miles from here."

"Okay. That sounds tragic, but since when are missing persons our kind of problem?"

"Since more than one report says the person was acting very strange before they disappeared."

"So you're thinking shapeshifter."

"It's possible. We've seen stranger things."

Dean snorted. "Heh, yeah. Well then, Ithaca it is. Hey, isn't that a college town? College girls.... mmm."

"Cornell University, but that's in the City of Ithaca. This is the Town. And we don't have time to chase college girls, remember?"

"Maybe you don't have time, genius, but there's always time in my schedule for a pretty girl." Dean leered and took a huge bite of his bacon.

xxxXXXxxx

The drive to Ithaca took less than an hour. Feeling tired even before they'd started, Dean had immediately rolled his window down to let in the cool November air. By the time they arrived, he kept his eyes open by sheer force of will.

Dean pulled into the first motel he spotted. While Sam took care of the room (since "this whole hunt was your idea, Einstein"), Dean leaned his head back and closed his eyes, dozing while he waited. He was jolted awake with a "sonofabitch" by his brother pounding on his window, a wide grin stretched across Sam's face. Dean frowned fiercely at him, drawing a hearty laugh from Sam. Dean's scowl promised swift retribution.

Still beaming, Sam pointed to a room on the far end of the parking lot and rounded the car, reaching to open his door. However, before he could open the door handle, Dean stretched across the seat and locked the passenger door. He threw the car into reverse, shouting at Sam to walk ("smartass"), then drove around to park in front of their room, grumbling the whole way. He pulled into a parking slot, threw the car into park, and rubbed his hands over exhausted eyes before dragging himself from the car.

Sam strode up as Dean pulled his bags out of the trunk. Sam retrieved his own bags, eyes still dancing with mirth, then unlocked the room door, all under the heat of Dean's glare. When the door lock clicked open, Dean shouldered past Sam and into the bathroom, closing the door firmly. Sam settled himself at the rickety table to research the hunt. Dean emerged again about a half hour later in a billow of steam, his hair wet, wearing only a pair of jeans. Ignoring Sam, Dean grabbed the TV remote, threw himself on his bed, and flipped through channels before landing on an old Western film. He settled back to watch, his eyes heavy, and was asleep within minutes.

Sam continued to poke around on his computer, serenaded by the comforting sound of Dean's snoring.

xxxXXXxxx

"Talk to me about the missing people." Dean gestured toward Sam's satchel with his greasy burger, then took another man-sized bite.

Sam pushed his half-eaten tuna sandwich aside. "Well..." He stopped to shake his head at the waitress when she interrupted to ask if he needed anything, then continued pulling papers from his bag. "We've got nine missing persons in the last year." He pulled out a picture of an old guy with a full gray beard and one of a younger guy with a similar, though darker, beard of his own. "The Rabbis Chaim and Mordechai Levy. Father and son. They disappeared almost a year ago. Then about six weeks later, Missy Davis was reported missing." He pulled out another picture, this time of a pretty young woman in a Cornell University sweatshirt.

"Nice." Dean grunted around another large bite. "That's what a college student should look like. I'm serious, after we finish this gig..."

"Deeeean." Sam warned and Dean grinned impishly. "Anyway, then Carl Hayden disappeared six weeks later." He added another picture to the growing pile. A handsome man in his late thirties smiled up at Dean from the photo. Then other pictures landed on the pile in rapid-fire sequence as Sam continued, "Then Karen Miller, Robert Fogelman, Monica Seaton, Doug Adams, and Andrea Payne. All about six weeks apart."

"So what's up with the six-week cycle?"

"No idea, but it's happening again. Andrea Payne was reported missing yesterday. We've got to find whatever did this before it has a chance to take someone else. And if it's a shapeshifter, there's a chance we'll find Andrea alive."

"Right." Dean ruffled thoughtfully through the photos. "So let's start with interviewing the grieving families."

"FBI?"

"Nah, too high-profile. It's time to dust off your reporter's hat, Sammy." Dean rose to leave, throwing some bills on the table. They had a lot of work ahead of them.

xxxXXXxxx

It sat at a booth, loose clothes and a hood covering its ugliness. It tried to eat food, but it had changed too much. Instead, it pretended to sip a drink. It watched _him_ , sitting across the diner, eating with another man. The man had long dark hair, big muscles, and a deep voice. It liked how his forehead crinkled when he talked, the interesting little moles on his face, his large, strong hands.

When the man stood up to leave, it craned its covered head up and up to look at his face. He was very tall. As the man passed, it reached out and brushed the skin of his hand with its fingers. The man paused to looked at it before curling his lips into a little smile and walking away. The man's eyes were brown and green and his cheek dimpled when he smiled. He was beautiful.

It followed him at a distance, watched him get into the black car with the other man and drive away. It could feel him moving further away, but wasn't worried. It could still feel him under its fingers, would always be able to find him, would watch him until the right time. It would be beautiful again very soon.


	2. Chapter 2

The young brunette eyed the Winchesters warily. Though she'd invited them into the apartment readily enough, she made no move to sit. Instead, she leaned against the table in the combination living/dining room with her arms crossed firmly against her chest, watching them skeptically. "I'm sorry, what newspaper did you say you were with?"

"We're with Tompkins Weekly, Ms. Johnson," Sam supplied, whipping out his most sympathetic expression. "I'm Albert Bouchard and this is my partner, Barry Goudreau. We promise not to take up too much of your time. We'd really like to give our article a more personal touch. Gather information from the people who know Andrea best."

"The police advised me not to speak to reporters."

"Well, sugar, the police don't know everything. The right article could help them locate your friend before it's too late." Dean tried to be patient, but really, this woman was looking at them like they were cockroaches. Sam shot him a warning look.

"Really, we just want to help, Ms. Johnson," Sam entreated.

"Becky." The brunette corrected. She paused, examining the brothers critically for a moment, then notably relaxed. "What do you want to know?"

"Andrea was your roommate?" Sam began.

"Yeah, for almost three years. We met as freshmen at Ithaca College and hit it off immediately. We started rooming together the next year. It's strange to think that she might not graduate with me next spring. I mean, we've been through everything together. She just..." Tears filled her eyes. "Andi's such an amazing person."

"Did you noticed anything out of the ordinary about her before she disappeared? Changes in her behavior, her routine, anything? " Dean redirected before the waterworks began to fall.

"Which time?" She answered with a teary shrug.

"What do you mean?" Dean questioned.

"Well, she disappeared over a month ago for a couple of days. No warning. She was in her room Saturday night finishing a term paper that was due the following Monday. As far as I knew, she'd planned to work on it all weekend, but the next morning she was just gone. Never said where she went or anything."

"Then what happened?" Sam's compassionate voice was like a warm caress.

The girl dabbed her eyes with the back of her hand and began to explain. Once she started, it was as if a dam had burst and she couldn't get the words out fast enough. "Well, she changed. Like, overnight. All of a sudden, she just wasn't Andi anymore." She glanced from one brother to the other, her teary eyes begging for understanding before continuing.

"One minute, Andi was a neurotic political science student, neat freak, vegan, all that. But when she turned up again early on Monday morning, she acted like nothing had happened. She never even turned in her paper. She started skipping classes, leaving her stuff around everywhere, eating red meat... eating anything she could get her hands on, actually. You know, Andi used to be a conservative dresser... not a nun or anything, but just simple outfits, comfortable without being overly revealing. After she turned up again, she started dressing like a tramp... tight clothes, low-cut dresses, tons of makeup."

Becky paused, her expression changing to embarrassment. "This second time, I didn't report her missing right away because... well, she'd been acting so strange. I thought she'd show up again any time because, even with her strange behavior, she usually came home every day or so to change clothes. When she hadn't shown up in almost a week, I realized something was wrong."

The brothers exchanged knowing glances before Dean inquired, "Do you mind if we take a look around her room?"

"Go ahead. It's at the end of the hall."

xxxXXXxxx

The motel room door banged open in the wake of Dean's anger. He stomped into the room, tossing his keys down on the nearest surface. "Well, that was a total waste." He turned on his brother, who calmly closed the door behind himself. "What are we doing here, Sam? Four days of interviewing and hours of trudging around the sewers looking for signs of a shapeshifter. I'll never get that smell out of my clothes! And we're still no closer to figuring this thing out."

"We've collected more information, at least."

"Yeah, but it doesn't make any sense, Sammy. I think we're looking at this all wrong."

"What're you talking about, Dean?"

Dean sighed. "For one, these old dudes don't fit the pattern." He gestured at the wall covered in the faces of the missing people Sam had printed earlier that week.

"They fit the six-week turnaround."

"Yeah, but that's all they have in common with the others. I mean, look at her..." He pointed to a picture of Andrea Payne. "She could be a supermodel." He gestured to another picture. "And this guy looks like he was sculpted out of marble. Look at that jawline! I'd do him... you know, if I swung that way... which I don't..." Sam's eyebrows rose questioningly. "Shut up. I'm just saying that these old guys don't fit."

Sam looked skeptical. "Well, let's look at what we do have. Except for the two old rabbis, each victim disappeared for one or two days, then reappeared without any explanation for where they'd been. Then for the next four to five weeks afterward, they displayed uncharacteristic behavior. In each of these cases, family and friends described them as being a completely different person."

"Right, all but the old dudes."

"Yeah, but when we talked to Chava Levy..."

"The younger rabbi's wife."

"Right. So she admitted that her father-in-law and husband had been acting strange before they vanished... distracted and preoccupied, working long hours, meeting at strange times... and that they would only say they were working on a project."

"That's right. And a third rabbi dude, the other brother, uh..."

"Nachum Levy."

"Yeah, him. He was committed to the nuthouse at the same time his father and brother disappeared."

"Nut house? Is that the official term?"

"Damn right. So that looks like one big ol' coincidence to me, going bonkers just when his daddy and bro go missing. Whatever it is, though, I just don't think it's a shapeshifter, Sam."

"Okay, so if it's not a shapeshifter, what is it?"

"I don't know yet, but there's one more thing these victims all had in common." Dean waved his hands dramatically, his face beaming with pride. "Dirt!"

"Dirt?"

"Yeah! You remember Andrea's room?"

"The place was a mess, but..."

"Not just a mess, Sam. There was a layer of gritty dirt all over everything. Remember how Carl Hayden's wife mentioned the covering of dirt she kept having to clean for the last few weeks after he disappeared for good? I bet if we looked closer, we'd find an unusual amount of dirt in all the victims' homes."

Sam considered this for a second before grabbing his jacket and heading for the door. "I've got an idea. There are still a few hours before the Cornell University library closes. I think I'll head over there and do some research."

"I'll drop you off. It's a good excuse to check out the college girls. You know, for after..."

Sam tried to frown at his brother, but the shine in Dean's eyes was infectious. "Okay, just don't get into any trouble."

"Hey, you know me."

"Yeah, I do, Dean." Sam couldn't stop his grin that time.

xxxXXXxxx

Sam stamped his feet and clapped his hands, trying to bring warmth back to his extremities. He paced the sidewalk outside the library. This late at night, the campus streets were quiet. His brother was supposed to pick him up when the library closed, but that was over a half-hour ago. Most likely, he'd found himself one of those cute college girls and lost track of time. Sam sighed and pulled out his phone for about the hundredth time.

"Hey." Dean's voice on the other end of the line sounded slightly annoyed.

"Dean, where are you? The library's been closed for half an hour."

"Sorry, man. I've been elbow deep in engine grease. Had a little car trouble."

"You manage to fix it?"

"Yeah, sorta. It took some creative jerry-rigging, but she'll last a little longer. Dude, we can't put it off any more. As soon as this job's over, we're heading straight to Bobby's. Do not pass go, do not collect $200."

"No hunts until you fix the car. Got it."

"Alright, I'm about 10 minutes from you. Please tell me you found something."

"Actually, I did." Sam wedged the phone to his ear with his shoulder, freeing his hands, and began rifling through the papers in his bag. "The old rabbis gave me the idea. They were both professors at the University, and Chaim Levy taught a class on Hebrew lore and mythology."

"Yeah? So you think this thing is Jewish?"

"Well, it originated from Hebrew mythology. I think it's a g... Ugn!" A sudden blow to the back of his head sent Sam sprawling on the sidewalk, his phone flung onto the curb. Sam observed denim-covered legs over women's sneakers before darkness filled his vision. He wasn't aware of the petite hands clasping his ankles and dragging his body away, nor did he hear the tinny sounds of his brother's anxious voice coming from his phone.

xxxXXXxxx

"Sam! Sam!" Dean yelled into the phone, but received no response. He floored the gas and hoped he wasn't too late.


	3. Chapter 3

"Boy, you better have a damn good reason for callin' me this late." Bobby's irritated voice was heavy with sleep.

"Sam's gone, Bobby."

"Aw, hell. What happened?"

"That thing took him. I found drag marks and a little blood. Looks like he was dragged about half a block and then shoved into a vehicle. His bag and phone were just sitting there on the ground, and there were little piles of dirt around. That thing's got him, Bobby. I should'a been there. I should'a protected him. That's my job. The kid had no business being out there by himself."

"Don't do that to yerself, Dean. Ya can't change what happened. Now fill me in. What're ya huntin'?"

Dean sighed heavily and started talking.

xxxXXXxxx

"So Sam thinks it's a golem?" Bobby asked.

"That's what the papers in his bag point to, yeah." Dean rubbed the bridge of his nose. The long night of worrying was catching up with him.

"Well, okay. I've never hunted a golem before. These things are pretty rare. Hasn't been a true sighting in decades. My understanding is that they're really hard to make."

"Make, right. 'Cause these things are created out of dirt. Ritual stuff, right?"

"Yeah. They're usually only as dangerous as the person controlling them, but when they go wild, you've usually got a slaughter on your hands. Which means bodies, blood, and all kinds of nastiness. Why would a golem simply take people? What's the intent of whoever created this thing? Do the victims have anything in common?"

"Not much, really. Just that, except for Fiddler on the Roof and his son, they're all exceptionally good-looking. One thing confuses me, though. If this golem nabs lookers, why'd it take Sam?"

"What're you sayin', Dean?"

"I mean... Why not me? I'm good looking. Right?"

"Can we just concentrate on finding your brother?"

"Yeah, okay. I'll go see what else I can dig up on the two rabbis."

"Sounds good. I'll see what else I can find out about golem. Call ya as soon as I've found something. And Dean? Get some rest, ya idjit. You're not gonna be any good to Sam if you're exhausted."

"Yeah, Bobby. I'll try."

xxxXXXxxx

Sam woke up to a pounding headache. His fingers came away sticky with blood after he gently prodded the lump on the back of his head. He blinked, trying to clear his vision. The only light spilled through the open door at the top of the stairway. In the near darkness, he could make out a large, unfinished basement. By the shapes of the shadows, items were stacked along the walls and in the corners of the large room, but the center was cleared of all clutter.

By the pounding in his skull and the haziness of his vision, Sam was pretty sure he had a concussion. He had no memory of how he'd gotten here, wherever "here" was. He gauged the distance between his position and the open door, deciding that he would be able to make it on his own if he took it carefully. Keeping his ears open for any sound of his abductor, Sam supported his weight on the wall behind him and edged himself up on his feet, swaying slightly for a few seconds.

The effort of trying to stand made him realize that his feet were bare and his outer shirts had been stripped, leaving only his thin, short-sleeved t-shirt. A metal cuff connected to a chain circled one ankle; the other end of the chain was attached low on the wall he was using for support. Sam bent to examine the lock on the chain more closely, but the movement made his head swim. He put his hand back on the wall and closed his eyes, trying to regain equilibrium.

A rustle from the far corner of the room drew Sam's attention. One of the shadows detached itself from the others and came toward him. Even in the room's minimal light, Sam could make out a human form in loose clothing. The figure slipped forward slowly, its gait awkward and clunky, stopping just outside of arm's reach.

They regarded each other silently for a few moments. Sam locked his knees, which began to quiver, to keep from sinking to the ground. Yep, definitely a concussion. He blinked furiously to keep his mind focused.

"You are beautiful." The voice grating from the shadow-enshrouded figure tore Sam from his daze.

"Uh, I... what?"

"I want to be beautiful." The thing took a hesitant, shuffling step forward.

Sam's fuzzy brain kicked into focus, racing to find some way to distract the creature in front of him long enough to get away. "I know what you are. You're a golem."

_Yatzee_. The shuffling-steps stopped. "I am ugly. I want to be beautiful. Like you." Soil sifted from the dull gray arm as the thing reached a hand toward Sam.

Sam shrank back as far as he could, the rough concrete wall hard against his back. "Wait! No. I understand, but you don't have to do that. We can find another way to... uh... make you beautiful."

The hand froze but didn't drop. The creature cocked its head to one side, listening carefully. Sam stood still, not even daring to breathe as his mind raced to come up with options.

xxxXXXxxx

It moved toward the man very carefully. It did not want to hurt the man. The last one had been very pretty with long nails. She yelled and kicked and scratched. It hadn't meant to, but it had broken her arm, felt the bone snap under its hands. She cried and cried before it finished taking her form. Then she never cried again.

This man was more beautiful than any of the ones before. It liked to watch the man sleep. Liked to watch the man's strong muscles. It would have those muscles soon. When the man spoke, it listened closely. Tried to imagine that voice coming from its own mouth. It wanted to have that voice.

It grabbed the man's arms and began to take what it needed. It felt the man collapse in its arms but did not stop, not until it took all it could for now. When it was finished, it laid the man gently on the ground and walked up the stairs. It would go away, let its new form grow. It would come back later and take more, and again and again, until it was beautiful again. The man would be safe here until it came back.

xxxXXXxxx

After an eternity spent worrying, pacing, and searching fruitlessly through Sam's notes, Dean felt exhausted and useless. He couldn't help thinking about what that creature might be doing to his brother. He had no idea where to find Sam or how to stop the golem. He intended to interview the remaining Levy family for further information as soon as possible, but morning was still hours away. Not knowing what else to do with himself, Dean stretched out on his bed. Bobby was right; he couldn't help Sam if he was running on empty.

He lay there listening to the cheap motel alarm clock ticking away the seconds, each one pounding louder and louder inside his skull. Every second that clicked by emphasized his failure to find his brother. Giving up the pretense of trying to sleep, Dean pulled out Sam's bag, sifting through his brother's research again. He even pulled the laptop open and reviewed Sam's search history. He didn't know what he was looking for exactly, but hoped that something in Sam's research would shed some light on where he might have been taken.

Finding nothing helpful, he moved on to researching the rabbis Sam seemed to think were the key to figuring this thing out. He found an article praising Rabbi Chaim Levy as an expert in Hebrew folklore and legend. Apparently, the rabbi was more than just a university professor. If the thing they were hunting really was a golem, it's possible that the old rabbi had enough knowledge to complete whatever ritual was required. But why?

Moving on to the old rabbi's sons, Dean found nothing interesting about the older son, Mordechai. Since Mordy was missing just like his dad, Dean assumed he was also a part of whatever had happened. The younger son, Nachum, was admitted to the nuthouse shortly after his father and brother disappeared. Dean would bet his baby's front bumper that old Nachum knew something. It was his wife, Judith, that Dean hoped to interview later that morning.

Dean patted himself on the back for his mad hacking skills when he managed to find a copy of Nachum's medical records. According to the documentation, Nachum Levy was released from the psychiatric ward mere months after being admitted. A note from his doctor indicated that he had been released into the care of his wife against his doctor's advice. The drugs his doctor prescribed told Dean that Nate was more than a few fries short of a Happy Meal. Dean wasn't sure how much he'd learn from the interview, but it was the only lead he had.

Dean dragged his tired, burning eyes from the computer screen and stretched the kinks from his back. Early morning light streamed through the one dingy window. Sighing with relief that the long night was finally over, Dean closed the laptop and prepared to leave. He'd grab some strong coffee before dropping in on the younger Rabbi Levy's wife.

xxxXXXxxx

Sam woke up in shadowy gloom, the cold of the concrete floor seeping through his single layer, making him shiver. It took a moment to remember where he was. He ached all over and a steady rhythm beat in his skull. He felt drained, his head fuzzy, like something important was missing but he couldn't put his finger on it.

The events of the last few hours came back to him in a flash of recollection. He checked his pockets for his cell phone, grimacing when he found nothing helpful. Stifling a groan, he assessed the room for escape options. A shaft of light shining from above him indicated the existence of a small window. When he craned his neck to look at it, he realized it was much too small, barely a slit in the concrete wall, and would never accommodate his bulk.

He also noticed the familiar stench of rotting flesh. The light from the small window did not reach beyond the space directly in front of him, casting the room's various objects in shadow. Though he couldn't see what caused the different shapes on the floor outside his circle of light, he guessed from the smell that he'd found the missing victims. He just hoped he wouldn't be joining them.

Using the dim light, Sam explored as far as his chain would allow, looking for anything he could use to free himself. The floor around him proved frustratingly free of clutter. He was about to give up hope and consider other options when his searching found something. He held the rusted, curved pipe up to the light, then hefted it in his hand. It would make an awkward weapon at best, but would do in a pinch. Meanwhile, he had to get out of there, and he couldn't just wait around for Dean to rescue him... again.

Sam followed the chain on his leg to the metal plate where it was fastened to the wall. He scraped at the concrete around it, elated with how readily the old concrete wall crumbled. It would be slow, tedious labor, but Sam was sure it would work. He lost track of time as he sat in the semi-dark scraping away at the wall. He managed to make a decent furrow before he heard footsteps on the floor above him. By the time the door at the top of the stairs opened, slashing the gloom, Sam was already on his feet with the pipe hidden in his hand behind his back.

The creature made its way down the stairs, its steps more sure than they had been the day before. It crossed the dark room, stopping within the light shaft to watch Sam silently. Sam stood poised, primed to spring at the right opportunity.

The creature wore a hooded sweatshirt, the hood part up over its head. It's shaded features seemed not quite formed, reminding Sam of melting wax.

Suddenly, the creature shot across the remaining distance and grasped Sam's forearms in a crushing grip. Sam struggled to get a good swing at the thing with his pipe but the creature held him immobile. His mind became woolen and fuzzy, drifting away as the pipe clanged to the floor. Though he didn't pass out this time, he was still completely unaware when the creature laid him back down on the floor and went back up the stairs, closing the door behind it.


	4. Chapter 4

"Mrs. Judith Levy?" Dean asked through the screen when the inner door opened.

"Yes?" A simply dressed woman in her mid-fifties regarded Dean wearily.

"I apologize for dropping in on you unexpectedly, Ma'am. Agent Frehley with the FBI." Dean flashed his fake ID. "I have a few questions bout your husband, Nachum Levy."

"About what?" The woman standing guard in the doorway possessed the hopeless, exhausted appearance of a full-time caretaker of a completely dependent loved one.

"About the events that led to the disappearance of Chaim and Mordechai Levy and... and your husband's current condition." Dean couldn't help feeling compassion in the face of the woman's despondence.

Dean heard babbling from inside the house and thought he could pick out a Hebrew word or two. Mrs. Levy turned to look behind her. Her eyes when she looked back to Dean seemed even more sad and tired than before. "I don't understand. I talked to the police a year ago and told them everything I knew."

"I realize that, Ma'am, but there's new evidence."

"Really? What new evidence?" A spark of hope glimmered in her eyes. Dean regretted that he couldn't offer her any real hope.

"I'm not at liberty to disclose any information. I'm truly sorry. But there might be something you remember that could help us. Please, Mrs. Levy. It's important. People's lives are at stake."

She paused for a moment, considering his words before swinging the screen door open. She gesturing Dean inside, leaving the inner door open as she ushered him to a seat. "Alright, how can I help?"

xxxXXXxxx

"They were good men, Agent. Good men. Mama's accident devastated my father-in-law." Mrs. Levy's hands shook slightly as she handed Dean a glass of water.

"What happened to your mother-in-law, Mrs. Levy?" Dean asked, trying to look compassionate rather than impatient. The poor lady was obviously starved for attention. She insisted on serving Dean a light snack before sitting to talk.

She eased herself into a small, overstuffed chair next to her husband's larger one. Nachum Levy didn't seem to notice that anyone else was in the room. He continued to babble, English interspersed with Hebrew in a way that sounded like gibberish. Mrs. Levy rested a hand on her husband's arm, not seeming to expect a response, before answering Dean's question.

"It was an icy day. The type of weather where no amount of salting or scraping will clear the ice from the walkways. She stepped out to get the mail, took a tumble on a slick spot, and hit her head on the edge of a step. A neighbor saw it happen and immediately called for an ambulance, but the damage was done. Poor Mama Levy never recovered. Tatte* doted on her, even after the accident. He never left her side. He cared for her, dressed her, fed her like you would a young baby. It was so sad. He loved her so much." Mrs. Levy dabbed a tissue to her eyes. Her husband continued to babble inaudibly.

"What about your husband and brother-in-law? Did they help with her care?" Dean inquired.

"Oh yes. My husband went over to Tatte's house almost every night to help him with Mama. He often stayed quite late into the night and he always looked exhausted when he returned."

"Your father-in-law cared for his wife in his home? She wasn't in a hospital?"

"Oh, no. He insisted on caring for her himself. He wouldn't trust her to anyone but family. He set up a room on the first floor for her. It's all still there, just as it was. I really should have gone through it all ages ago and put the house up for sale, but with everything that's happened, I just can't bring myself to go in there again. She died shortly after Tatte and Mordechai disappeared, you know." Her sorrowful gaze drifted to her husband.

"I didn't know. I'm very sorry for your loss." Dean replied.

Nachum's babbling grew in intensity, the same phrase repeating over and over. Dean knew a few words of Hebrew thanks to a girl he dated a few years ago, but he couldn't pick out anything in Nachum's jabbering. "I'm sorry to ask, Mrs. Levy, but can you tell me what your husband is saying?"

Mrs. Levy shifted uncomfortably. "He's saying 'Min chevrayah at; hadar le'afarecha'**. It translates to _you are from the sorcerers; return to your dust_."  

"Any idea what that means?"

"He's been repeating this for the last year, Agent. It doesn't mean anything. My husband is not well." The weight seemed heavy on her shoulders as she sat beside her raving husband.

"Yeah, I know, but... I'm sorry, Ma'am. Can you remember anything else your husband has said over the past year?"

"I don't see what this has to do with anything."

"Please, Mrs. Levy, bear with me. Has your husband said anything else?"

"Well, yes. He often says that he tried to make Mama. When I ask him about it in his more lucid moments, he just repeats that he was making Mama and that he couldn't control it."

Dean's interest was certainly piqued. He had to work to keep the excitement out of his voice. "Anything else?"

"Well, yes, but this is strange. He often warns me not to go in Tatte's basement. He gets very agitated about it."

"What's so strange about that?"

"Agent, there is no basement in my father-in-law's house."

xxxXXXxxx

It admired its new body, posing in the buff before the only full-length mirror in the house. The image reflected back was almost perfect. Almost. It flexed newly developed biceps and abs, pleased with how the muscles rippled. It ran hands over skin and hair, feeling the almost fully-formed aspects of this new body. Some areas were not quite finished yet, especially the face, with features that were not quite distinct.

Practicing its new voice, it watched, fascinated, as the Adam's apple bobbed up and down. Words formed, resonating deeply but not quite sounding as pleasant as it remembered. Frowning briefly at the reflection, it watched the mouth respond to its will. Pleased again, it tried to smile but the movement was not right yet. It longed for the dimpled smile it noticed on first seeing this face. Only one more session with the man... _Sam_... and it would be complete.

It particularly enjoyed the memories and intelligence provided by this new form, both of which far surpassed any of its former chosen ones. Words and images poured into its mind after each session, and it devoured them like an addict, wanting more. It knew it must wait, though. Taking too much too quickly had caused problems in the past, killing its chosen ones before it had taken everything. The man... _Sam_... needed to rest a bit longer before the final session.

It remembered the form the creator had wanted it to take. An old woman, wrinkled, shriveled, ugly. It had refused, fought back. It wanted to be beautiful. Admired. Loved by everyone. Not a worthless old prune.

It was anxious to finish the process soon, to truly become _Sam_ , to see how people would react to this new form. This would be the best one yet. And the brother... _Dean_! If it could convince Dean that it really was Sam, it would be both beautiful and clever. Soon, it reminded itself. Soon.

Meanwhile, it could enjoy the beauty of its new body.

xxxXXXxxx

He held the pipe in his hands, scraping and pounding feverishly at the wall. Chunks of cement fell away, the resulting dust clogging his lungs and causing him to cough. The blisters on his hands had long since ruptured into bleeding sores, but still he didn't stop. Didn't even slow down. He had to get free, had to find... someone.

Problem was that he could only remember bits and pieces. His head felt full of holes. Images, feelings, faces, all swam disjointedly in his head. The one thing he knew for certain, though, was that he had to get out of here. Quickly.

With single-minded determination, he hacked at the wall surrounding the metal plate.

xxxXXXxxx

"Bobby, I could really use some good news right now. Tell me you found something." Dean had one hand on the wheel, the other holding the phone to his ear as he fought stupid stop-and-go traffic.

"Who do you think you're talkin' to, boy? Of course I found something," came Bobby's gruff response.

"Care to share?"

"Well, first off, the ritual to create a golem is no walk in the park. It's Kabbalistic... extremely dangerous."

"I know what Kabbalistic means, Bobby. But how does that help us find Sam?"

"Keep your shirt on. I'm getting to it. Now, a ritual like this can only be completed by someone of righteous heart. It's pretty intense. The person would have to be extremely knowledgeable of the Torah."

"You mean, like an expert on Hebrew lore?" Dean slammed the breaks again, fighting hard not to honk his horn in frustration. The old rabbi's house was only a few miles away, but at this rate it would take him hours to get there!

"Yeah, like that. You know someone who fits that description?"

"Turns out the old rabbi was renowned in the Jewish community for his expert knowledge. And, get this... his wife was practically a vegetable after a fall the previous winter. Seems he was trying to replace her with a newer model. " Dean inched the car forward again, filling in the gap created as the car in front of him did the same. "And to top it off, I think there might be a secret entrance to a basement in that house. Weird, huh?"

"Peachy. Well, at least we know why the old guy was trying to create a golem. But still, that's a huge risk. He must've been really desperate. And he'd need help."

"Help? What kind of help, Bobby?" Dean hit the breaks again. He was getting tired of looking at the same set of break lights in front of him. Stupid traffic.

"According to my sources, the ritual requires three people. This thing is risky. There are stories in the Talmud of Rabbis who learned Kabbalah and didn't survive with their sanity intact. Whoever helped him with this must've been either stupid or family."

"Or both. I think his sons helped him. Nachum kept ranting in Hebrew about being from the sorcerers and returning to dust."

"That sounds familiar. Hang on." Dean heard a thud as Bobby set the phone down, then silence for a few seconds. A bang that sounded like a book hitting the table and the rustle of pages flipping accompanied some muted grumbling from Bobby before the old hunter picked up the line again. "Thought so. That's straight from the Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Sanhedrin. And you say he went nuts?"

"Yep. Totally fruit loops."

"Makes sense. It also says that golem are usually protectors, but sometimes they turn on their creators. That must be what happened here."

"Yeah, but Bobby, why does this golem keep taking people? Like it keeps changing shapes."

"I dunno. Maybe the ritual wasn't completed. Maybe this golem is unstable and has to keep taking new forms. All I know is that you need to kill it. Quickly. Before it's finished with Sam."

xxxXXXxxx

The plate was coming loose. Almost there. The urgency he felt intensified the longer he hacked at the wall. Unfocused panic forced him to grab the chain and yank, falling back in a heap on the floor as the chain sprang free. Fueled by adrenaline, he sprinted up the steps toward the rim of light shining from under the door at the top of the staircase. Once through, he made his way to the front door and out into the street.

With no idea what he was fleeing from, he sprinted toward the direction of traffic. His shoeless feet barely felt the bite of pavement as he ran, the chain on his ankle bouncing and clanging behind him with each step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *"Tatte" is Yiddish for "Daddy". (Pronounced "Ta-te". Short "a", second syllable sounds a little like "i" in "hit" but not as strong.)   
> **From Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Sanhedrin, Page 65b


	5. Chapter 5

"Okay, Bobby, so how do I kill it?" Traffic had come to a complete stop, not even inching forward anymore. Dean ran a hand over his face. The coffee he'd had this morning had long since worn off.

"That's where the lore gets weird. It says that a word is written on the golem's forehead that keeps it alive. One story says it's the name of God, another says it's the Hebrew word for truth."

"Well, that's fascinating. What does that have to do with killing it?"

"I'm getting to it, smartass. Most sources agree that if you can change that word... like, change the word for truth to the word for death by removing the aleph, you can essentially deactivate the golem. "

"What the hell does that mean, Bobby?" Dean could hear honking and yelling from the cars in front of him. It seemed people were getting impatient with the stopped traffic.

"You got me. I found the information. It's your job to figure out how to apply it."

"Yeah, I know. It's just... it's almost been a day, Bobby. Some of the victims returned after a day. Once the golem finishes taking Sam's form, it won't have a reason to keep him alive anymore." Dean noticed a crowd gathering on the road ahead.

"You can't think like that, boy..."

"Hang on, Bobby." Dean interrupted. He leaned forward, trying to see what was going on, then eased out of the car to get a better view, closing the door behind him. Something was definitely going on up there. "I'll call you back." He snapped his phone closed and slipped it into his pocket. He had only taken a few steps forward when he saw a familiar head towering over the crowd.

"Sam!!" He cried and shouldered his way into the crowd. He pushed aside the thought that the man up there could be the golem and not his brother.

xxxXXXxxx

He had been running. Running away. Running toward. It didn't matter. Running. He ran down the street, sometimes running through traffic on a crossroad. He didn't pay attention to the shouting or honking, didn't notice the cold air whipping his exposed skin, didn't notice when he left bloody footprints behind.

The traffic grew thicker. Cars and people surrounded him. He slowed to a stop, confused by the sounds and chaos. He tried to move away, needed to get free, but people moved in closer. Hands reached for him. He scuttled away only to find more people, more cars, more noise.

Then one voice rose above the cacophony. A name. It sounded... he didn't know how it sounded, only that he felt drawn to it, drawn to the man who emerged from the crowd. The man approached him slowly, spoke carefully, reached a hand out to him. It felt right, felt normal. He didn't recognize the man, but somehow trusted him.

He let the man take his arm, guide him to a large black car, and settle him into the seat. He rubbed his hand over the leather and stitching of the seat and eased his long legs across the footwell. He looked at the man squatting on his heals beside him. The man clapped a hand on his shoulder, stood, and came around the car to sit beside him on the seat. The man's eyes filled with sadness as he glanced over at him, his voice chattering away. The car rumbled to life, music blasting from the radio. He didn't know much, but he was pretty sure this was what he'd been searching for.

xxxXXXxxx

It hovered on the edge of the crowd. No one paid any attention, which was fine. It wasn't there to have fun this time. It was there to get its chosen one back. It heard a familiar voice and turned to see the brother... _Dean_... approach the chosen.

_Sam_. It didn't know yet how the man had gotten out, but it would deal with that later. What it needed now was to get the man alone and complete this form. Its frustration grew as it watched the chosen enter the black car... _baby_... and ride away.

It would follow, find the chosen one, and take what it needed. It would be beautiful again.

xxxXXXxxx

Dean guided Sam into the motel room, wincing at his brother's ragged feet, though Sam hardly seemed to notice the damage. Sam didn't seem to recognize anything, including Dean. Dean kept his voice calm and light, trying not to spook his brother. All the while, his mind raced with worry and... if he were honest with himself... panic.

Dean led his brother directly into the bathroom. Telling Sam he'd be right back, Dean went out to the Impala and brought back a set of bolt cutters, which he applied to the band around Sam's ankle. He threw the offending chain and manacle into the corner and turned his focus on his brother. Sam was filthy, his skin covered in a layer of fine dirt. It was thickest on his forearms, where Dean found what looked like the imprints of hands or fingers.

Dean helped Sam out of his jeans and steered him into the tub. Sam's skin felt cold, so Dean let the water warm up before turning on the overhead spray. He was afraid he'd have to wash his brother off, but after demonstrating what to do with the soap, Sam seemed able to handle that part himself.

With the shower finished, Dean gave his brother clean clothes, which Sam thankfully put on himself. While Dean bandaged Sam's hands and feet, Sam watched his brother's face but his eyes held no recognition. Dean continued his soothing monologue, hoping the sound of his voice would jog Sam out of this... whatever-it-was.

"You were at Stanford. Dad and I were hunting a skinwalker in Idaho. Get this... the thing changed itself into a Yorkshire Terrier of all things. Ha! It still managed to do some damage, though. Killed five people before we stopped it. But there was this girl, Sammy. Motel manager's daughter at the dive we were staying in. College girl. Smart, sexy, and legs that went on for miles. You know, she was almost as tall as I was. This one time, she..."

The phone rang, Bobby's name flashing on the screen, and Dean realized he'd left his friend hanging.

"I found him, Bobby." Dean began without preamble. "He doesn't even know who I am, but it's him."

"What? Where was he?"

Dean made sure Sam was settled comfortably on the bed and turned the TV on with the volume low. Sam didn't even glance at it, his eyes following Dean instead. Having the TV on made Dean feel better, though. At least it was another voice in the room. Sam's silence was creeping him out.

"He was wandering in the middle of the street. There's something wrong with him, Bobby. Like he's not really there. He hasn't said a word and he looks at me like he's not sure who I am. What'd that son-of-a-bitch do to him?"

"Aw, hell! I was afraid this might happen."

"Wait, you knew that thing would turn Sam into a walking vegetable but you didn't think to mention it?"

"You had enough to worry about, boy. No point looking for trouble before it happens."

Dean sighed, forcing his panic back down again. "Okay, Bobby. What is this? Can we fix Sam?"

"There's a theory that when a golem takes a form, it takes the person's memories too, leaving the person a drooling mess. It's possible that killing the golem will transfer those memories back to Sam, but Dean, it's a longshot."

"Well then, I'm gonna gank me a golem."


	6. Chapter 6

After setting up the wards Bobby gave him and warning Sam to stay put, Dean reluctantly left the motel. He wanted to take Sam with him, but in his current condition it just wasn't safe. Of course, leaving him behind, defenseless, wasn't much better.

Dean stood at the door of the old rabbi's house, his lock pick making swift work of the simple lock. He hoped to find the golem there, kill it, and get back to Sam before anything else could happen. Easy peasy lemon squeezy. Dean snorted. How often were things that simple for them?

Dean's quick search found the house empty, but there were signs that the golem had been there often over the last year. Every surface was coated in the same fine dirt he'd seen in the victims' homes. Following the thickest path, he discovered the entrance to the hidden basement behind a bookshelf. Dean couldn't fathom why a rabbi needed a secret basement, but he didn't really care either. He just wanted to gank this thing and get Sammy back to normal.

Dean's flashlight revealed corpses in varying stages of decay piled in a heap in one corner. The pattern smeared on the center of the floor was broken by candles and other ritual items. The pattern appeared smudged by bootprints, the items in the center scattered around as if kicked in a scuffle. Against one wall, he found a freshly-made hole in the wall, a rusty pipe, a large concentration of the now-clichéd dirt, and barefooted prints heading toward the stairway. Unfortunately, Dean found no sign of where the golem was currently. Other than confirming the golem's hiding place, the excursion proved fruitless.

Dean's heart raced with the realization that he'd left Sam alone and relatively unprotected at the motel. If the golem wasn't here, it was likely tracking Sam down to finish the job. Dean rushed back to the Impala, hoping he wasn't too late.

xxxXXXxxx

It stood outside the motel room, hand resting lightly on the door. It could sense the chosen one mere feet away. It could also sense the wards meant to keep it away. Fortunately, it already possessed most of hunter's memories and intelligence. Breaking the wards would be a simple matter. Reveling in its newly-acquired skill, it quickly picked the lock and entered the room.

The figure on the bed looked, recognition flashing across vacant eyes as the man scuttled across the bed to cower in the farthest corner. Putting its new skills to use, it easily broke the wards and stepped across the worn carpet. It crouched down before the wreck in the corner, drawing a whimper from the cowering figure. Gripping flailing arms that tried to fight it away, it eagerly began taking what it needed to complete its final form. The figure in its grasp became listless, slumping further to the floor as muscles forgot how to function.

The process finished, it stood, stepping away from the pile of bones and tissues on the floor. That pathetic lump was no longer important. _It_ was Sam now.

And it was beautiful!

xxxXXXxxx

The open door to their room confirmed Dean's fears, sending him flying from the Impala, barely remembering to throw it into park and remove the key. Sam stood in the center of the room, admiring himself in the cracked mirror hanging over the TV. Another Sam slumped in the corner, eyes unfocused and glazed, mouth slack, a line of drool trailing down his chin.

The thing pretending to be Sam turned away from the mirror, flashing the same smile that Sam had used a thousand times over. "Hi, Dean. You're just in time." Dean had barely enough warning to reach for the gun tucked into his back waistband as the golem sped across the room, gripping Dean tightly by the throat. Dean pulled the gun out, aiming it at the creature. Without releasing its grip on Dean's windpipe, the golem grabbed Dean's wrist, squeezing until the hunter released the weapon.

"Give me back my brother, you sonofabitch." Dean choked out.

"Dean, Dean. Don't you see?" The thing responded, the reasonable tone sounding eerily like Sam when he tried to talk Dean out of doing something stupid. "I'm your brother. That mess on the floor is nothing now. Worthless. I'm the one who matters now."

"You're not Sam! You're just a cheap copy." Dean's hoarse voice was thick with anger.

Golem-Sam's eyes turned sad and regretful. "I know you'll never accept me. It's too bad, really. I would've enjoyed having a brother." With one powerful thrust, the thing tossed Dean against the wall. Dean crashed to the floor, his back blazing with the all-too-familiar pain of impact.

Shaking the fuzz from his brain, he slipped his hidden knife from the sheath in his boot. The golem closed the distance between them, using both hands to grab Dean again by the neck, lifting him until his feet hung inches from the floor. Gasping for air, Dean kicked futilely, his vision dimming. Desperate, he raised the knife. Remembering what Bobby said about breaking the lettering embedded on the golem's forehead, plunging it deep into the golem's brow, hoping it would do the trick.

The golem dropped Dean, who fell to the floor coughing and heaving air into his starved lungs. As he watched, the golem disintegrated into a heap of dirt. "Well, okay. Housekeeping is going to love us."

A thump from the corner drew his attention to Sam, who convulsed violently. Dean ran to his brother's side, unable to do anything beyond keeping Sam from hurting himself further as he thrashed against the wall. When the seizures finally ended, Dean moved Sam to the nearest bed, covering his long frame with a blanket. Keeping vigil over his brother, helplessly wondering whether his brother would wake as _Sam_ or an empty shell.

xxxXXXxxx

The dawn glow found Dean sitting on the edge of the bed keeping watch over his brother. Over and over through the long night, he'd checked Sam's pulse, monitored his breathing, smoothed his brow, paced, and waited.

Still Sam slept.

Dean rose and crossed to the door, opening it to lean against the doorframe. He watched the sky grow brighter, the orange rays of sunlight setting trees and buildings aglow. He breathed deeply of the crisp air, trying to calm his restless spirit.

"Dean?"

Startled by the unexpected sound of Sam's voice, Dean turned to see his brother propped up on one arm, gently rubbing his temple. Crossing the room quickly, Dean sat gently on the bed.

"Sammy? You in there?"

"Think so." Sam's voice sounded rough from disuse.

"Good enough. How're you feeling?"

"Headache. Bad."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, I bet. You think you can sit up?"

Sam nodded, rubbing his mammoth hands over his face. "Yeah, I think so."

Dean helped his brother move to settle on the edge of the bed and handed him a glass of water, admonishing Sam to sip slowly when he chugged the tepid liquid.

Sam glanced around the room, taking in the dent in the wall and the pile of dirt on the floor. Gesturing to the dirt, he asked, "What's that?"

"That's what's left of the golem. I stabbed it in the head."

"Huh. Okay."

"So, how much do you remember?"

"Everything, I think. I woke up in a basement and that thing came at me. I remember getting free and running. You found me and brought me home and..."

"And what?"

Sam's face wrinkled in confusion and disgust. "Dude, tell me we didn't shower together."

Dean laughed, the knot in his gut easing for the first time in days. "Yeah, you wish. Hungry?"

"Starving."

"Good. Let's eat and then we'll head back to the Shire, Samwise. I'm gonna pack up. You... don't move."

"Not moving. Got it."

Dean grinned as he moved around the room, packing up their meager belongings.

xxxXXXxxx

After a huge breakfast for both men, the brothers sat in comfortable silence, enjoying the open highway. The radio played low in the background.

Dean glanced at Sam again for what could have been the hundredth time since starting out. Sam tried to ignore it. After all, he should be used to it by now. Dean always kept a closer eye on him after a particularly difficult hunt.

"So, you figured out that it was a golem." Sam hoped to distract Dean from his own thoughts.

"Who, Smeagol? Of course. You're not the only smart one in the family, genius."

Sam chuckled. "What tipped you off? The papers I copied on golems or the page in my notepad where I wrote 'GOLEM' in huge letters and circled it a few times?"

"Shaddup." Dean shot a grin at his brother before growing more serious. "I found the bodies."

"Lemme guess... you found them in the basement where the golem was keeping me."

"Right. I put in an anonymous call to the cops. They shoulda found them all by now."

"Good."

"One thing I don't get, though."

"What's that?"

"The old rabbi tried to make this golem into a carbon copy of his wife, right?"

"Right." Sam responded with a yawn as he settled more comfortably in the seat.

"Well, why bother? Seems like a lot of hassle for a golem that would only keep its form for six weeks." Dean glanced over at his brother, his eyebrows raised in question.

"From what I read, golem are supposed to keep their form until their creator releases them. I think the rabbi must not have been able to finish the ritual before the golem turned on it, so it was incomplete. It had to keep refreshing its image."

"Whatever. What really matters is that we stopped it. And Sammy, the next time I say no hunt..."

"I'll listen." Sam finished for him, grinning tiredly.

"Damn right, you will." Dean tried to glower but failed. He was just glad to have his brother back.

Sam curled over in his seat and rested his head against the window. Soon his breathing evened out and he relaxed into a light sleep. Dean turned the radio up slightly and settled in for a long drive. The tires of his Impala ate the asphalt and his brother slept in the passenger seat. This was as good as it got in Dean's world, and he intended to enjoy it for as long as he could.

END


End file.
